Lawless (Marriage Law Challenge)
by 100thatwitch
Summary: Seven years after the war, the wizarding population is still severely decimated. The Ministry renews the marriage law and Hermione, who was just getting back to normal, has to contend with finding a mate, rising dark forces, and just getting to work.
1. I'll Be Your Woman

_"The strongest winds come from your mouth_

_Set my sails down south_

_Through this haze and these storms of doubt_

_Why do we do it this way?"_

"I'll Be Your Woman," St. Paul and the Broken Bones

Morning came quietly over the streets of London, and when the sun was barely peaking over the neat row of houses on Grimmauld Place, Ron Weasley was fixing himself a cup of tea in the kitchen. Since the end of the Second Wizarding War, Ron had found himself greeting the day as it broke. He had changed - while still tall with his trademark red hair, he had become markedly older. His smile was more muted, his jokes and laughter more subdued. On first glance, he looked like a 24-year-old, but on the other hand, everyone who looked into his eyes saw he had lived through unspeakable horrors.

After the war, Harry had invested money into cleaning up and repairing Number 12 Grimmauld Place, transforming the creaky, musty flat to a beautiful, light-filled home. It no longer hid in between 11 and 13, and the Muggles never paid it any mind. Harry enjoyed the unique character of Islington and had convinced Ron to move into one of the second-floor bedrooms. It was convenient for the two of them, as Harry had become an Auror and Ron had joined George at Weasley Wizard Wheezes. Hermione worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, enacting policy and supervising oversight. Her affluent dentist parents left her their flat in the highly coveted neighbourhood of Knightsbridge, and they retired to the French countryside to pursue their dreams of creating the perfect Bordeaux.

Ron paused at the large window to admire the sunrise when the Daily Prophet owl knocked on the glass, pulling him out his thoughts. He undid the twine and as he settled into the chair to begin reading, his eyes widened in shock and let out a yell.

In the six years since the end of the war, it had become customary for the friends to pile into Harry's kitchen to discuss the news when important things occurred. As the years had gone on, and life returned to some kind of modicum of normalcy, these impromptu meetings had become less and less frequent. But by seven am, the usually quiet kitchen was bustling with activity. Luna Lovegood had arrived first, which Ron appreciated since he knew she was also an early riser, but she had a calming effect on him. Harry had been filled in on the situation as he set the kettle for coffee. Hermione was next, muttering "they can't do this," and "positively appalling," under her breath, and then George and Charlie joined. Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, Ginny Weasley (flatmates in Chelsea, which was a point of contention, since they all played for different Quidditch teams) appeared, Angelina clutching her half-eaten toast. Neville joined last, covered in leaves (he had a tendency to do some midnight Herbology when he couldn't sleep.

Hermione, as usual, started the conversation. "Obviously, they can't go through with this."

Katie leaned back in her chair. "I don't know what _this_ is. Ginny yanked me out of bed to come."

The kitchen exploded into an outburst of noise, which instantly died down as Hermione began to explain.

"Apparently, the wizarding population has hit a severe decline - so many people were killed during the war, and people are choosing not to get married and have kids. They hoped it would even out over time, but the issue is getting worse. So the ministry is going to allow one year for people to choose their mate, and if they're not successful at the end of the year in finding a suitable partner, the Ministry will them up. This happened in 1267, and there's some sort of spell, like the Goblet of Fire, that picks the right person for you. But the Ministry is playing at giving us a choice or something."

Angelina made her way over to George, and rested her head against in shoulder. They had been dating for years, and she was his rock, and the light in his life. After Fred had died, Angelina had restored love into his life, had held him when he felt like he could no longer go on, and covered the store on days when George needed to just fly and clear his head.

Harry watched as his chosen family interacted and supported each other. He wondered about his own future. After the war, he, Hermione, and Ron, had been covered extensively by the various wizarding periodicals. They had risen to a level of celebrity that Harry and Hermione found, frankly, intolerable. Ron thought it was hilarious, and it did attract a fair amount of business to the shop. Ginny was a celebrated Quidditch player in her own right, but she had received even more coverage because she was, as Rita Skeeter had put it, "The Chosen Girlfriend." Harry was also raising Teddy Lupin, and he worried about adding more children to the mix.

Harry's eyes drifted off to Hermione, who was chatting with Ginny quietly. Hermione and Ron never made it work. There was too much of an intellectual disparity, and Hermione just couldn't resign herself to the various attitudes and behaviors Ron was so prone to. Ron had taken a while to forgive her, but time had worked its magic, and the three were back to their regular, status quo friendship. Harry worried about her. She had been hardest hit when the periodicals decided to cover her extensively. They debated her clothing endlessly, her hair, her job, and even her various goings-about. When she had ducked into Waterstone's in Kensington, the photo below the fold had been her leaving with an armful of books, and they debated endlessly if reading Muggle texts was of any value or would help her catch a man. In truth, Hermione was buying endless novels because she felt that she could not go outside without being accosted by the general public. Harry wondered if she would opt out of the process entirely, and chose to wait for the spell, since that seemed of least hassle, if entirely loveless. He sipped his tea, hoping that his best friend and most trusted confidant would make the right choice, as she normally did.

When Hermione had arrived Hogwarts, she had been incredibly careful to cultivate an identity that she was an extremely regular Muggleborn, and let her abilities and intelligence speak for itself. She had pushed forth a narrative that her parents were comfortably middle class dentists who resided in North London, and she had had a perfectly normal reality, Hermione's family was far more interesting.

Hermione's grandfather, Edward Granger, had been a clever and ambitious man in his early twenties when the Second World War had raged across Europe. Unlike for many men his age, he had all opportunities open before him, being of title and money, and he used it to his advantage. As a graduate of the Royal Naval College in Dartmouth, he worked his way up in the ranks to Lieutenant -Commander, and fought bravely during the war. After the war, he played the role as a concerned member of the people, but also bought and built up properties across war-ravaged London, often displacing the people he claimed to care about. He joined the House of Lords and used his connections and sheer cunning to create a real-estate empire.

Edward was eager to instill his brand of unbridled ambition into his only son, Daniel, but the cerebral boy had chosen to eschew his father's path of the Navy and then business and instead pursued a career in dentistry, where he then met his wife, Catherine. Daniel was aware he had no need to work to provide for his family, and all he really wanted money for was to purchase more books and travel to odd lands. When their daughter, Hermione, had joined the mix, they had been fascinated by the various quirks she had displayed as she grew. They emphasized education for education's sake, not as the way of achieving a goal, and were delighted when she proved to be just as intelligent and curious as her parents. And while her parents had no interest in the fact that they were both highly titled and moneyed, they still benefitted from it greatly. For the precocious child, being addressed as "Lady Granger," felt absurd and archaic, and she resented her peers who were also titled, since their behaviour was typically entitled and churlish.

And so Hogwarts presented her an opportunity where she was just Hermione, where she assumed she would be judged on the basis of her abilities, and not who her parents were and how much money they had. This was Hermione's main mistake - she was judged, and severely so, based on her lineage, but this time, she was being discriminated against. However, as time went by, no one could deny she commanded respect - intelligent, brave, and an excellent friend, Hermione far exceeded whatever anyone could have expected from. She carefully concealed her family life, but when she would go home for summer she was thrown back into the identity that felt so absolutely foreign to her. It was like putting on a coat four sizes too large in the summer.

As she conversed with Ginny next to the sink, she thought about her identity, and all the choices she had made to get to this moment. She sighed, and she looked towards Harry, he nodded to her. They had fought wars together, they were bound in a way no one could explain. She longed to go back to the tent where it had just been the two of them. For the first time since the end of the war, she was terrified.


	2. Current Location

_"Now our days are numbered_

_Should I try? I wonder_

_Wait how far is London?_

_I need my current location_

_To be your current location, fly back to me."_

\- "Current Location," LANY

After the war, the question of what would happen to the Death Eaters and their accomplices loomed largely. The Auror Office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement spent the first several years hunting the Death Eaters, and the subsequent trials went on for years, with coverage splashed across the Daily Prophet. The process was horrifying. Every single witch and wizard had lost someone or seen something traumatic, and they often testified against the accused.

Draco Malfoy, according to everyone who met him, had changed. Those who knew the sneering eleven-year-old or the terrified Death Eater were surprised, to say the least, by the radical change. Something during the war had transformed him. Draco had willingly turned himself into the Ministry as someone who participated in the horror Voldemort perpetrated. He did so not as a way to mitigate his punishment, but because he genuinely felt sickened by the horror that was wreaked.

His father had chosen suicide. Draco was put on a watch list and was sent to magical re-education. But by then, his bigoted views towards Muggles had all but vanished. He moved out of Malfoy Manor, opting to buy a modest flat in Croydon, around immigrant Muggle couples with their screaming babies and interesting spices. Part of rehabilitation for former Death Eaters was to work a Muggle service job. He had become a barista, serving politicians and other bigwigs in Westminster. He thought he would hate it, but he actually excelled at the job and then relished it. He worked his way up and found he had a penchant for numbers and organization, and when he expressed this to the wizard in charge of supervising his rehabilitation, the wizard recommended he take an aptitude test. Draco was then placed in the Office of Magical Planning, and he loved the structure of it. At the beginning of his employment, he was met with a measure of healthy suspicion given his past and his late father's noted behaviours. But slowly, he earned the respect of his peers and employers with his quiet and kind demeanour, his hard work, and his skill.

In an odd twist of fate, he had been paired with Hermione for the last year on interdepartmental projects, and he found he rather liked it. On this wet Wednesday morning, they were planning the security for the upcoming All-England Women's Quidditch finals, which was a large task. As they broke for lunch, he slid across some food for her. One of his neighbours, Deepa, a small woman with a screaming baby, had taken a liking to the tall, blonde man who ran the community garden in their impoverished community, and often dropped by leftovers from her family suppers. As such, Draco had been introduced to the British Indian community, and rather liked their food. He discovered Hermione liked a good curry and often brought enough for both of them.

"So," Hermione said, as she cast a warming charm on their food, "what are you going to do about the marriage act?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't know. It's not as if people are lining around the block to date a former Death Eater, and I can't marry a Muggle. What about you?"

Hermione snorted. "Did you see the Daily Prophet this morning? They now are gambling on who I'm going to marry. 5-1 odds for Ron, and 12-1 odds that I'm gay and having a torrid affair with Gwendolyn Banks."

"The main singer of Cauldron Crew?" Draco questioned, chuckling at the thought. "I support that, but only if I get free tickets."

"I'll let her know tonight when we get dinner and discuss our futures together," Hermione laughed. "Maybe I'll escape to France, learn to make wine."

"Maybe you'll find a Veela for yourself there."

"That would give the Prophet a right run, I like that."

Draco lifted his glass of pumpkin juice and clinked it to Hermione's. "To making the Daily Prophet miserable," he said.

"Here, here," Hermione said, returning the cheers.

* * *

Hermione's flat in Knightsbridge was a twenty-minute walk from Ginny's home in Chelsea, and Ginny took full advantage of it, often popping in to complain about Harry and his devotion to his job. Hermione was an awful chef, and Ginny had no patience for it, so they often opted for takeaway from one of the many highly-rated eateries that dotted their surroundings. On this night, Harry was working the late shift, and Ginny insisted on showing up with cartons of greasy Chinese takeaway.

Ginny, fiercely independent and still wickedly funny, had been branded "the Scarlet Comet," for her fast and terrifying flying skills. Immediately after finishing Hogwarts she had taken a position on the reserve bench for the Holyhead Harpies. Three weeks into the season, one of the chasers had been knocked off her broom by a particularly fierce bludger, and Ginny had flown onto the pitch, dazzling the Holyhead audience. Her on the pitch antics delighted the crowds, and the press photos of her cosying up to Harry made her the envy of most women Hermione knew. Ginny stayed oblivious. Fame had little effect on her, Hermione was jealous of how casual and easygoing she was.

"Mum has a running list of eligible wizards she's going to try to set you up with," Ginny said plopping herself down on Hermione's blue damask couch. "I'd say marry Ron, but he's a right prat on a good day, but of course you know that." She began to dig through her lo main with chopsticks. "This law is stupid. How am I supposed to play Quidditch when pregnant? Anyway, enough about me. What are you planning to do?"

Hermione sat down next to Ginny, grabbing an egg roll. "Viktor sent me an owl this morning… he heard about the law and he's anyway been traded to the Gateshead Gryffins. He's still lovely, and so bright…"

"And you've been over him since the day you met him, so no," Ginny said decidedly. "What about someone from your year? Dean? Oh, that might be odd, he dated me and Luna… wait. I've got it!" Her face lit up and she began to dance excitedly. "Oh, I am brilliant."

Hermione leaned back into her couch, watching Ginny dance around her sitting room excitedly. "Are you going to tell me, or do you want to just set up the wedding and tell me when to show up?"

Ginny indulged herself for one more second and then rejoined Hermione on the couch. "It's so brilliant, you know each other, and-"

"Out with it."

"Neville."

Hermione paused. "Ok, go on."

"Firstly, he's a good bloke through and through. He protected Luna and me during that horrible year and he's a hero. Harry says he's an excellent Auror, and we see him round Grimmuald a lot. He's brilliant with Teddy, too, he can cook, and though he's also famous and rich he's still quiet and a good bloke." Ginny paused, but the excitement was all over her face. "Also, he's fit as fuck. Did you see that picture in the Prophet last week?"

Hermione shook her head, but she was turning over the idea in her head. She was aware that the bumbling eleven-year-old had turned into a startlingly handsome man. He entered the Auror force right before Harry had, and was often partnered with her best friend. Like her, he was a war hero, with a long scar running across his right cheek to remind people of what he did, and somehow it only contributed to how hot he was. Hermione also knew of how Witch Weekly loved to cover him, and how the witches she worked with spoke behind his back. But he had remained ever sweet and wonderful to her, periodically joining her and Harry for lunch, and occasionally bringing her weird and beautiful plants.

Ginny searched Hermione's face for some kind of answer, and after what felt like ages, Hermione nodded. "Yes, that seems like a good idea."

* * *

Hermione's office was cramped but neat. Books lined every available surface, and the magical window was enchanted to show the Cliffs of Dover, and several framed photos sat on her desk - with her mum and dad on holiday in Germany, with Ginny and Teddy at her first match as a professional player, and another of her with Ron and Harry at Wizard Weasley Wheezes, with Fred and George in the corner, making silly faces at the camera. Hermione studied that photo for a couple of minutes as she at down after her meeting.

She missed Fred. She missed how infuriating he would be, but how he would make her laugh in a way that would warm her from her core to her toes. She missed his kindness and good humour. After Dumbledore died, he had found her at the funeral and held her for an hour, just letting her know she was safe, and important, and needed. That summer they had enjoyed a brief and very secret relationship. The perpetual prankster unlocked a joy in the bookworm that she had so desperately needed. During Bill and Fleur's wedding, she had danced in his arms and they had agreed to wait for each other, with him giving her a tiny telescope necklace. "Cause that time my telescope punched you I knew I was in love - and if you look through, I'll be there," he said softly.

When she and Harry had adventured across Britain in search of the Horcruxes, she had filled a journal with letters to Fred that she was going to give to him when she saw him again. But the next time she saw him was during the Battle of Hogwarts, and the time after that was the day she buried him.

Several months after the funeral, George had shown up at Number 12 (Hermione resided with Harry for two years because she was afraid to live alone) and handed her a pack of letters - Fred had had the same idea. She had read every single one, imagining his voice and laughter, and she wished to just hold his hand again. A year after his death, Ron had asked her out - and Hermione tried to go out with him, but it felt incestuous, and she barely made it through dinner. She gave herself time to heal, and she had let the relationship remain secret, with just the yellowing letters remaining in the bottom drawer of her desk at home, and the necklace around her neck. After Fred, there were several dates, but no relationships. It daunted her that marriage was on the horizon, and she had no idea what was going to happen to her.

She threw herself back into her paperwork until she heard a slight cough and a knock on the door. She looked up, and in her doorway stood Neville Longbottom. Hermione couldn't say for a second she was surprised, but she was impressed by how industrious Ginny had been.

"Hi, Neville. How are you?" She tried to make him feel as at ease as possible, knowing that whatever he was going to say was going to be awkward.

"MacDervish sent me to give you these," he said, handing her an armload of paperwork. "Also, do you have a moment?"

Hermione nodded, and Neville shut the door behind him. He was wearing the royal blue and gold Auror robes so that the blue in his eyes sparkled. His dark brown hair was combed neatly. Neville didn't take pains in his appearance - he was handsome, startlingly so, but he seemed detached from his looks. Hermione knew he still kept a greenhouse and enjoyed working there when not at the Ministry, and maintained a generally low-profile. Unlike Ron, who milked and enjoyed his celebrity status, it seemed to bother Neville, a quality that Hermione found attractive.

He rubbed his forehead and sighed. "I want to ask you out, but I don't want to do it because it seems like the marriage act is forcing me too or something because I've been trying to do so for six months and I just never worked up the courage."

He sat down and looked at her earnestly. "I think you're wonderful, and I know if I don't speak now I'm probably going to lose my chance-"

"Did Ginny talk to you?" Hermione asked, cutting him off.

"What? N-no, I, mean, yes., but she's known for a while and I think- anyway, so I have a chance? Can I make you dinner or something?"

Hermione smiled. "Yes, of course. Your idea is probably best, don't want the photographers after us."

Neville shuddered. "Ugh, they took an awful photo of me last week and put it in the Prophet. Nan almost murdered me. Anyway - my place? Tonight? 7?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I'd be happy to," she said, with a grin on her face, surprised by how much she was looking forward to it. And she had to go off and find this photo people were talking about.


	3. Here You Come Again

_"All you gotta do is smile that smile_

_And there go all my defences_

_Just leave it up to you and in a little while_

_You're messin' up my mind and fillin' up my senses_

_Here you come again lookin' better than a body has a right to_

_And shakin' me up so that all I know_

_Is here you come again and here I go."_

_\- "Here You Come Again," Dolly Parton_

Unlike his peers who worked at the Ministry of Magic, Neville had chosen to reside in northern Surrey, as opposed to getting a flat in London. He had tried living in London but found city living was incompatible with having plants and purchased a modestly sized but beautiful home in Virginia Water. Had he been relegated to Muggle transport, the commute would have been a hassle, but the Floo network was quick and he did enjoy the suburbs. His Muggle neighbours were friendly (well, as friendly as British can be), and he grew basil and oregano and interesting flowers in his front garden and magical plants in the greenhouse that he built in his backyard. He bought the home hoping to start a family in it but found that dating was rather difficult.

He had been recruited for the Auror force right after the war, and while he was rather good at his job, he much preferred to be wading through his greenhouse. His friends at the Ministry were pleasant enough, and he did like working with Harry and Dean, but he was eyeing the day he could leave the Ministry. He was rather inspired by the actions of Newt Scamander and hoped to have a similar career with plants, rather than magical creatures.

As with Harry, Hermione, and Ron, Neville had been subject to quite a bit of press coverage. After murdering Nagini in front of hundreds of witches and Wizards, he had been nicknamed "The Slayer," and "The Green Sword" (an obvious but clumsy reference to his noted proclivity with plants.) Like Hermione, he found the press coverage difficult and irritating and opted to stay inside most of the time. However, this had the opposite of the desired effect - the more he starved the media, the more they wanted news of the famed Slayer. He could not date properly, and his deep want to start a family lay unrealised because he was so hampered by the press.

He had liked Hermione since the very first day of Hogwarts when she had gone off in search of his toad. At first, he found her know-it-all attitude and fierce demeanour rather intimidating. But as he grew and flourished and became a powerful wizard in his own right, the feeling of intimidation disappeared, and in its stead deep attraction grew. When Hermione joined the DMLE he had given her an Everflourishing Gardenia and hoped that would do the talking for him, but nothing had happened. He had worried that her friendship with Ron Weasley (who he didn't much care for), was something more than friendship, but that also didn't seem to produce anything. When he expressed his feelings to Ginny (a trusted confidant), she had been encouraging, but he never seemed to manage to summon up the courage to talk to her about anything more than work or small chat. In reality, the Marriage Act was his saviour because it forced him to talk and make his desires clear. And he had been overjoyed when she agreed - and happily so.

And so he collected various herbs from his Muggle front garden (he had placed a warming spell on the basil to keep it a flourishing year long, a secret he carefully concealed from his Muggle neighbours), he couldn't deny the overall giddiness he was experiencing. At exactly seven o'clock, he heard his doorbell ring, and he steeled himself. This was it.

"I would have much rathered take you out somewhere," Neville said as he led Hermione to the sitting room after dinner, handing her a glass of sauvignon blanc.

"Nonsense," Hermione dismissed him. "This is perfect."

Neville's home suited him. It was bright and airy with leather sofas and plants everywhere and several walls lined with books. Hermione went over to inspect the titles.

"I read a lot," he admitted, watching her expectantly. "Mostly herbology, but I do like a Muggle mystery novel here and there." Hermione chuckled and she pulled out a leather-bound Agatha Christie collection.

"You have good taste," she complimented him, and he flushed slightly.

Dinner had surpassed her expectations. Neville was an interesting conversationalist, with intelligent insights and fascinating anecdotes. His cooking was superb, and she was drawn to his large blue eyes and quiet demeanour. There was none of the feared awkwardness, and the air was filled with undeniable electricity. He had regaled her with her rather amusing stories about his greenhouse and training for the Auror Force.

Neville lit the fireplace with his wand, and the two sat down on the leather couch. "How's your mum and dad taking the news about the act," he asked carefully. He didn't know much about the Doctors Granger, except that they were Muggles and dentists.

"I told Daddy yesterday," Hermione admitted. "He's not much too thrilled, but he understands. They live in France right now, but Daddy comes back and forth since he's a member of the House of Lords."

Neville raised his eyebrows. "Don't you have to be-"

Hermione flushed, and Neville chuckled. "Ok, I won't ask more, but what am I supposed to address you as?"

"Um, just Hermione, I mean, it's technically Lady Granger but no one calls me that and I hate it-" she began to babble, and Neville watched her amusedly, enjoying her flustered expression.

Neville moved very close to her, put his hand on the small of her back, and looked at her directly in the eyes. Hermione went silent, and breathless, knowing what was coming next, and she deeply wanted it. "I'm going to say something stupid about you being a princess in my eyes and then I'm going to kiss you." He put his other hand in her hair, used the hand on her back to pull her flush to him, and kissed her, and within less than half a second, Hermione was kissing him back, deeply, with passion, and the dragon inside Neville roared with pleasure.

Over the next five weeks, Neville found every reason to visit Hermione's office. He steadily ignored the Daily Prophet's stream of rumours of who he was dating, and they kept their flourishing relationship under the strictest of silences, but he craved the moment his shift was oner and he could apparate to her flat. Their schedules conflicted slightly - the shifts for the Auror office were ever-changing and he was often called to handle emergencies. But they were enjoying the time they could spend together, and Hermione found herself shocked at how much she liked him.

He discovered she could not cook (she hadn't even attempted), and he happily assumed the mantle of doing so. He loved to read next to her, and she did watch a fair amount of telly. But they were relegated to staying inside for fear of cameras, and Neville was beginning to go a bit stir crazy.

There was also the issue of sex. While Neville was not a prude nor a virgin, and their snogging sessions (of which there were plentiful) were quite enjoyable, he had still not done what he wanted yet, which was pull her into bed and find exactly where would make her moan and scream. He thought about it endlessly. But the issue with cameras and photographers terrified him, and he was afraid that if he took the next step, that was going to end up all over the presses. He was familiar with the story of Rita Skeeter turning into a beetle and it had slightly horrified him.

Witch Weekly and the Daily Prophet were doing quite well with the renewal of the Marriage Act. It provided much-needed fodder for the tabloids, and hundreds of thousands of witches and wizards bought the papers to engage with the salacious gossip. Bets were taken about notable "celebrity" magical personas and who they would marry. There were articles about finding the ideal partner (ideal being wealthy and good looking, of course), and advertisements for magical matchmaking and love potions and all sorts of other love accoutrements. Three weeks after the act had gone into effect, Harry Potter had proposed to Ginny Weasley and that had been covered so extensively that Harry had to take a holiday from work to avoid the photographers. He escaped with Teddy to Scotland, as he was prone to do, to visit Minerva McGonagall, who viewed Teddy as a beloved nephew.

It was November in London, and Hermione had opted to use the Floo to get to work to avoid the smattering of rainstorms that is so common for the city. As she stepped out of the emerald flames and dusted off the ash from her maroon travelling cloak, she noticed that people seemed oddly friendlier to her. She made her way past the Welcome Witch, and to her office, on the second level, and it seemed that the hive of people that normally paid her very little mind were making it a point to be extremely friendly to her. The Security Wizard, Lysander Ogillsby, a gangly Irish wizard with a thatch of blonde hair and hazel eyes, also seemed remarkably friendly (though, to be fair, he was always slightly off-kilter in Hermione's opinion.) She presented her wand to him, and he waved her inside the DMLE brightly. She sat down at her desk and as soon as she unfolded The Daily Prophet she saw the reason why everyone had been remarkably friendly to her.

It was a photo from the night before. Neville had reached his limit of how much he could stay inside and he wanted to do a Muggle activity with Hermione, and upon finding she was a fan of the ballet, he had promptly purchased tickets for La Bayadère at the Royal Opera House. He had been enthralled by the ballet, and as they walked out and crossed Covent Garden, a drizzle began to fall, and Neville had pulled her into a deep, long kiss. Neville had just wanted to go out with her without cameras, and she had dressed for the occasion - short black dress that sparkled in the streetlights, black heels, and a camel coloured coat. He had worn a smartly cut deep blue three-piece suit, and Hermione couldn't remember being so attracted to someone. They had looked every inch a posh London couple, and Hermione had deeply enjoyed it.

And now the whole British Wizarding world saw what was supposed to be an intimate, private moment. The photo replayed over and over him pulling her into his arms, kissing him, and their laughter after the kiss. The title was similarly appalling - "SLAYER SCOOPS GOLDEN GIRL," and the article gone about _war heroes_ and how _attractive_ and _crown jewel_ and Hermione was nauseated.

"Never been a fan myself of the ballet," a familiar voice chuckled, and Hermione looked up to see Draco pushing a latte across the desk as he deposited several leather-bound books.

"Ugh, this photo-" Hermione glared at the photo of her.

"You look fit, Hermione, like a Muggle model or something," Draco laughed as he sat down. "Papers going to have a right carnival with this one."

Hermione turned her glare from the photo to him. "It's just such an invasion of my privacy!"

"It's a good story, Hermione. You're a war hero, he's a war hero. Apparently, you saved his pet on the first day of Hogwarts? The public loves Longbottom and he doesn't give them much." Draco began to pick at an almond croissant that he had produced from the pocket of his purple robes. "Dunno, I reckon the papers just wanted some drama and you two are - well, unexpected, and you're a remarkably tidy couple."

"So now you're into the gossip rags?"

Draco shrugged and proffered the croissant to Hermione, which she waved away. "It's not as if my life is very interesting."

Hermione looked at the pale blonde man and realised that their positions had severely reversed. She was sought after, respected, and prized. But Draco, who once was Wizarding royalty, underwent a sharp change. She knew dating life would be hard for him, but she didn't realise how difficult it would be. He was distrusted by his former community (if she were to put it lightly) and post-war he was still finding it difficult to prove he wasn't a murderer.

"Maybe there's someone you're interested in? I'm not trying to praise myself, but a recommendation from me might carry some weight."

Draco shook his head. "No, because even if someone did agree to go out with me, I wouldn't feel worthy."

"I think you're plenty worthy," Hermione said quietly, and Draco looked up, his grey eyes meeting her brown eyes, and for a full thirty seconds, they stared at each other, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Oh hullo Draco," Neville said cautiously, oblivious to the conversation that was going on. Neville felt uncomfortable around Draco, as did most people. He still remembered what Draco had done to him as a teenager, and while he understood that Hermione was rather friendly and worked closely with Draco, he could not say he felt at ease with the fact.

"Hi, Neville," Draco said brightly. "How are you?"

"Um, very well, thank you," Neville said, shifting uncomfortably.

Draco smiled. "I'm going to leave you two lovebirds alone. Hermione - drop by my office when you get a chance so we can finish those numbers." Draco got up and swiftly exited the room, closing the door behind him.

"I'm so sorry about that photo," Neville said.

"You didn't have anything to do with it," Hermione said, shaking her head. "I guess the cat's out of the bag, though."

"If it makes you feel any better, the guys in my office think I've up levelled," he said, crossing to her side of the desk, pulling her up into his arms, and beginning to kiss her. "But I'm sorry for exposing you to the mob. I wanted to protect you from this bullshite. Not that you need protecting but-"

"But you don't have anything to do with this," Hermione repeated. "I trust you. We weren't going to be able to keep this a secret much longer."

"Speaking of not keeping it a secret, we have to go to my Gran's for dinner," Neville sighed. "She's furious with me for not telling her, but she is rather happy it's you."

"As long as I don't cook, I'm fine with it," Hermione said, kissing him again.


	4. Slow Dancing in the Dark

_When I'm around slow dancing in the dark_

_Don't follow me, you'll end up in my arms_

_Give me reasons we should be complete_

_You should be with him, I can't compete_

_You looked at me like I was someone else, oh well_

_Can't you see?_

_I don't wanna slow dance_

_In the dark_

_"Slow Dancing in the Dark," Joji_

_What the fuck was that?! _Draco screamed internally as he slammed his office door shut._ She's your _**_friend_**_, you bumbling prat, and you need friends! _He sat down at his desk, only to come face to face once again with that cursed Daily Prophet. He stared at the photo, maybe out of morbid curiosity, maybe hoping that if he stared at it long enough it would no longer exist.

He had been working with Hermione Granger for a little over a year. In the beginning, it had been a one off project, but he liked it so much, he kept requesting the liaison position. And it gave him more time to learn about the way she took her coffee, her dislike of her neighbours, and the crinkle in her nose when she laughed. He was in love with the woman he used to bully, and that nauseated him.

If he was honest with himself, Draco felt an ever constant slight illness. Whatever punishment the Ministry had decided he should bear and the words that were still whispered around him paled in comparison with his own thoughts. His last name came up in context with so many atrocities. His aunt was the reason people still screamed at night. Rudolphus Lestrange was still on the run, and he was reminded of it every time the Aurors came to question him. Draco had chilling nightmares, and he felt deeply disgusted with himself and everything about his family. All he wanted to be was normal - be good at his job, have a couple of mates for the pub, maybe a girl. But his name, choices, and history destroyed that.

She was the bigger person. She always was. She had been tortured in his family home. The scars his aunt had left across her arms still were visible, and she never mentioned it to him. She never made it seem like she was better than him because she was a war hero and he was a criminal of the highest order, allowed to be free by some kind of odd grace. In fact, he was free because of legislation she had fought to enact and programs she piloted. And to his deep disappointment, he fell in love with everything about her and knew not to say anything. Because what kind of perversion would it be for him to have that much - and that dark - history with someone and expect them to have any kind of romantic feelings?

_Longbottom is the right choice_, he thought sadly, as he watched her chestnut hair glisten in London's lights in the photo. _Safe, smart. She deserves better than me._ He watched the photo for a second longer, imagining himself in place of Neville, then sadly folded the paper and binned it.

_It's better this way._

"There's been another Dolohov tip," Harry said as he stopped by Neville's desk.

Harry handed Neville a roll of parchment and Neville considered it carefully. "Do you think there's any merit to it?"

"I dunno. Nothing lately has been turning up positive, and quite frankly, I think he escaped to Bosnia."

Neville shook his head. "Bosnia, Lebanon, Uganda… the same countries keep cropping up."

"But we don't have jurisdiction to go there and search ourselves, and the reason they're going there is because we don't have strong diplomatic ties," Harry sat down next to Neville. "Yates and Berrick think someone from the Liaison office should go down there."

"Fat load of good that's going to do," Neville snorted. "When I was in Jordan Abu Sahar refused to even acknowledge that there could be any dark wizards in the Middle East, and Jordan's our main point of contact for the Arab magical world."

Harry frowned. International magical cooperation wasn't his strong suit. He was good with a mystery and loved a chase, but at the end of the day he just wanted to stay in Britain and go home to Ginny. "There's movement _everywhere_, and we can't track any of it because of laws."

"We could send someone in undercover," Georgés, the French liaison Auror interrupted. "We have former Death Eaters and cooperators who are on our list - maybe we could-"

"And risk having them turn back?" Crowley, a burly Auror with a thick Mancunian accent interjected. "Don't bloody well think so."

Georgés glared at him. She was incredibly small, with chin length blonde hair and a fierce frown. Harry and Neville secretly referred to her as a pit-bull because she was tiny and rather angry all the time. "Well, then what do you suggest, Meeeeeeeeeesterr Crowley?" She made sure to draw out the Mr, and Harry had to conceal a chuckle.

"To hell with international laws," Crowley scowled back at her. "Just go in, get 'em, apologise later. Don't know why these countries want to shelter them."

"Let's call in all our liaison officers," Harry began slowly, "we've got like thirty. Between them we can probably get something going."

"The information is need to know, Potter," Crowley reminded him.

"We need to know where Lestrange is," Neville said quietly, and Harry gave him what he hoped what was a comforting glance. As the other two Aurors went off to other parts of the office, Neville studied his shoes.

"You alright there, mate?" Harry asked. "Been a big day for you, what with the paper and this."

"You realize we're going to have to send someone to the Middle East?" Neville asked. "And that someone is going to be Hermione because that's her job."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I know. I don't like it much either."

Harry hadn't known the two were dating until that morning when Ginny had shoved the paper in his hands as they were eating breakfast. In truth, Harry hadn't paid attention to his friends much in the past weeks. Every night that he had gone home there was something new - Teddy, Ginny, Molly, the house, Ron, even helping at Weasley Wizard Wheezes. Hermione was his strongest and most capable friend, and sometimes he took it for granted.

"There's a lot of changes happening," Harry admitted as he played with the sleeve of his robes. "You can't protect her, and trust me, I've tried — she's going to do what she wants, and you're better off that way. Honestly, we'd all probably be dead if it weren't for her."

Neville snorted. "Isn't that the truth. When are you and Ginny getting married by the way?"

Harry stood up and Neville watched him get visibly anxious. "We haven't set a date, and Molly has been at number 12 seven times in the last ten days to remind me to do it and I love her but I am afraid of her," he whispered.

"Mate, that's what having a mother in law is like," Neville laughed, and Harry looked even more terrified.

Neville's fears were realised the very next day. Hermione had received orders to go on tour to forge diplomatic relations with the wizarding communities that were possibly shielding dark wizards. He watched her pack and tried to make cheery conversation, but he was failing miserably.

"I don't want you to go," Neville said, frowning. "It's not safe."

Hermione looked up from her folding. "I'll be fine. I've dealt with worse, and Harry and a bunch of aurors and other ministry people are going to be with me."

Neville had a lot to say. How he thought that using Hermione and Harry was an unnecessary security risk — that while they were technically qualified for the job, the Ministry was really sending them as figureheads.

"But-"

"I _want_ to go," Hermione interjected. "This is the only good part of my job and it allows me to make _actual _change. International magical cooperation is pivotal and British wizards need to stop being so superior and insular."

She was irritated. She rarely got interesting jobs, and most of the time she felt like she was simply making do with her daily life. At the end of the day, she _was_ a Gryffindor, and she craved a little danger and to get out of the office. But then she saw Neville scowling at the paper — or more specifically, a picture of the two of them. Rita Skeeter had made it her personal mission to torture Hermione and publish as many articles about her and Neville. Rita had chosen to go extremely personal - laying out Neville's tragic past and how he had watched Hermione for years, but according to Rita's recounting, Hermione was cold and withholding and dragging out the courtship while she considered her options. Clearly, Rita had some vengeance to wreak for that time Hermione discovered her beetle animagus and trapped her in a jar.

"It's all over the bloody papers," Neville growled. "It's a security risk. What if…" he began to mutter.

"What if what?" Hermione asked, setting down the jumper she was folding.

"Nothing," Neville said, a scowl still stretched across his face.

"Neville, talk to me," she pleaded.

"Right after the war, Rudolphus swore he would kill me and every Weasley. You know… cause Molly killed Bellatrix… and well, he says he should have finished the job when he got a chance." Anguish was written all over his face. Hermione knew he still went every Sunday morning to visit his beloved parents — and she also knew, like Harry, Neville's past had made him desperately crave a family of his own. Harry had been talking about fatherhood and family quite earnestly since their harrowing camping trek across Britain, and the few times Neville and Hermione had been around children together, Neville was positively enthralled and delighted, which just further deepened Hermione's affection.

"Every time we catch a Death Eater or a collaborator, and there's an interrogation, something comes out where they tried to kill you. They've been trying to kill you for years, and then… putting us together… I'm worried it's going to light the fire underneath Rudolphus."

Hermione knew this. Harry had briefed her years ago that the collective of now leaderless Death Eaters had made it a priority to enact revenge — and she was number two on the "to kill list," following, of course, Harry. Hermione still had protective charms on her flat and Aurors came around periodically to check her defences.

Neville looked at her, and she could see all the sadness, exhaustion, and fear in his eyes, and all her irritation vanished. She knew that his objections had borne from care and need, and she crossed the room to stand next to him and grabbed for his hand.

"Let's talk when I get back," she said slowly, searching his eyes. "I'll owl you every day, and I promise I'll stay safe, as long as you do."

"Hermione," he said huskily, pulling her into his arms, "When you get back, I want to talk about the next steps. I want to marry you, I want to have a family with you. Take the time apart to think, but I'm ready for the next step. I want to quit the Ministry — McGonagall needs a new Herbology professor, and she offered me the position, and you keep talking about healer school."

Hermione opened her mouth, but he stopped her. "I am in love with you, and I have been for a couple of years, but I don't want you to marry me because of the Act."

"I- It's not because of the Act," Hermione stuttered as he pulled her flush against him, and suddenly, as if controlled by something outside of her body, she was kissing him and undoing his belt and breathing hard into his mouth. He quickly understood what she was doing and deepened his kiss, almost knocking her over with the force of his need. Hermione was pulling at his shirt, her hand in his hair, and there was frantic tugging and motion. Neville threw her onto the bed, pulling off his shirt as he did, and then pulled himself over her.

"You sure you want to do this," he asked, his voice surprisingly tender. Hermione was already tracing the lines of his well-defined chest with her tongue, tugging at his trousers.

She nodded in consent, and within seconds, he had disrobed her.

Neville awoke to the sound of knocking. It was barely 7am and Hermione was gone. He didn't like waking up alone. When he opened the door, he was surprised to see Draco.

"Um, morning," he stammered.

"I just came by to give Hermione this book and papers for his trip," Draco said, preferring a thick leatherette folder, and a dark brown book with faded gold writing. Neville could barely make out the words on the spine.

"She left already," Neville adjusted the sleeve of his navy blue dressing gown.

"Oh," Draco looked crestfallen. "I meant to come by last night-"

"_We_ weren't available last night," Neville emphasized the word so Draco would understand. He and Hermione were a couple, a unit, and Neville didn't want the tall blonde man around his corner of happiness. "I'll take these and pass these along to her when she returns."

Draco sighed. He knew this was going to happen. Hermione would find a suitable match and that suitable match would be suspicious of Draco. And his first real friend would be snatched away from him. He turned to walk down the corridor of Hermione's building, his heart in his stomach.

Three weeks later, Hermione returned, to Neville's sheer delight. He had cleaned every inch of her flat, rearranged the books, set up a plant station, and hung some photos of the two of them. When she had walked in he had carried her to the bed and insisted he was never going to let her go before making passionate love to her. She had fallen asleep in his arms, and he planned to ask her to marry him the very next day.

He fell asleep to the sound of her rhythmic breathing, but was woken up to the sound of pounding on the door of the flat.

"HERMIONE!" A man's voice shouted. Neville grabbed his wand, and Hermione came sprinting after him. Neville opened the door to find a bedraggled and blood covered Draco.

"Why are you always fucking here, mate?" Neville asked, irritation splayed across his face.

Hermione pulled Draco inside, closing the door of the flat behind him. He was covered in dirt and had several scratches across his face, as well as the beginnings of a black eye. His clothes were torn and he looked as if he had been glassed.

"What happened?" Hermione asked worriedly. Neville crossed his arms across his chest, and looked angrily at the blonde man. He wondered if Draco was now pulling an act to get Hermione to give him attention.

Draco shook his head, and gasped for air. "R-Reg-ulus. He's back."


	5. Power is Power

_Thanks for following for so long. I deeply appreciate all your comments!_

* * *

_"How do I know if I let you stay?_

_How do I know if we did it your way_

_You wouldn't take my place_

_Put me away, I'd die lookin' up at your face_

_How do I ever know? Who can I trust_

_Feelings of emptiness_

_Only love could kill me"_

_-"Power is Power," SZA/The Weeknd_

Rudolphus Lestrange was an odd man. He was a powerful wizard in his own right. During his time at Hogwarts, he had been popular, and competent in his lessons, with slight issues in Charms. He had been an excellent Keeper for the Slytherin Quidditch team. He was smart, but not brilliant. His professors had no qualms with his behaviour, but would not say he was a paragon of morality. In fact, he was average in pretty much every way. He began to date Bellatrix Black, a beautiful and quiet witch from the year under his.

Bellatrix had been quiet, but not shy. Both she and Rudolphus held beliefs about natural order and pureblood supremacy, but she kept them to herself. The world after Grindelwald's defeat was not a place where people would readily admit to their views if they diverged from the norm. But when a dark wizard named Lord Voldemort came to place, Bellatrix and Rudolphus readily joined his forces, becoming the first of the feared Death Eaters.

Voldemort unlocked a madness in Bellatrix that was intoxicating to Rudolphus, a kind of volatility that was chaotic and attractive at the same time. Suddenly, the roles had been reversed. He found himself catering to her whims, simultaneously slightly terrified of her and worshipping her. She slept next to him, but her eyes were only for the snake-like Lord Voldemort, and Rudolphus resigned himself to realising that Bellatrix might have his last name, but she would not truly love him like she desired the Dark Lord.

When his beloved wife was killed in the Battle of Hogwarts, he disapparated to Croatia and mourned, and then pledged to avenge her. Rudolphus had never been a leader, but suddenly he was recruiting an underground in Eastern Europe and the Middle East. Rudolphus found himself acquainted with the cobblestone streets of Warsaw and the sand-swept alleys of Saudi Arabia. He had narrowly dodged a group of international Aurors in Bulgaria.

Publicly, he was trying to bring an international flavour to his newly formed group of dark wizards, who were just continuing Voldemort's work. But privately, he was avenging his dear Bella, and his first order of business was to kill everyone who had conspired in her death. Molly Weasley, of course, was first. Then Neville Longbottom. Then Hermione Granger. Then Harry Potter. Then his blasted nephew.

Rudolphus had never liked his blonde nephew. He thought that Lucius had coddled the boy, and the boy was spoiled and spineless. And for reasons he could never truly define, he was convinced that somehow Draco had betrayed Bellatrix. And when Draco had firmly pressed himself up to the blood traitors after the war, it deepened Rudolphus's resolve.

So against all logic, Rudolphus returned to England and stood outside Draco's flat in Croydon, waiting for his nephew to return. But he had underestimated how skilled Draco was as a wizard, and there was a significant tussle, but in the end, Rudolphus had disapparated.

And Draco had stood there on Chisholm Road, looking like he had just been glassed, and his only thought was _warn Hermione. Get there now. _In a fog, he made his way to her flat in Knightsbridge, oblivious to the posh passers-by who were staring at him with displeased and disapproving glances. They tut-tutted about riffraff and how the quality of the neighbourhood was going down, but Draco had to tell Hermione that the man who vowed to kill her was back in England.

But Neville was there. Bloody Neville. Draco knew he should be happy that his friend had met someone Suitable and Acceptable and Nice, but Draco couldn't shake the feelings he had for Hermione out of his head. But he also knew that Hermione couldn't, and shouldn't, be with him. She was going to be Minister for Magic, in his opinion, and he could do nothing but destroy her.

But he was now bloody and dirty and sitting on Hermione's couch, sipping earl grey tea out of a white and gold porcelain teacup. Neville was standing against the wall, arms folded across his chest, wearing a navy blue dressing gown and a deep scowl. Hermione, however, was watching Draco with an expression of deep concern, not noticing how angry Neville was.

"So let me get this straight," Neville said, every word laced with deep distrust, "Rudolphus Lestrange, the most hunted wizard in the world, just happened to show up outside of your flat in Croydon?"

Draco nodded. "He was waiting for me."

"Don't get me wrong, Malfoy," Neville said Malfoy with such derision Draco slightly recoiled, "but you're _not important_. You're not someone he wants to get revenge on. You don't-"

"He blames me for Bellatrix's death and is mad that I am living a free life as opposed to sitting in Azkaban. He thinks I'm a traitor."

Hermione sighed. "Do you know where he went? Did he say anything?"

Draco shook his head. "He only said he'd give me a chance to redeem myself if I joined him, but when I said no-"

"I think we should take you into the Ministry right now," Neville said. "You need to be de-briefed and monitored."

"Monitored? I'm not a-"

"Criminal?" Neville shot back. "Yes, you are. You're out by some fucking fluke but there's a mark on your arm that says that you're a criminal. The person who you call uncle is the man who made me essentially an orphan, you tried to kill my friends when you were a teenager-"

"Neville!" Hermione cut him off. "That's enough."

But Neville wasn't done. "Why are you bloody here? Why didn't you go to the Ministry? Why put Hermione in danger? The reason he ran away was to trail you, and you probably led him goddamn here and I will KILL YOU if Hermione is in danger because of you."

As they raised their voices and bickered, Hermione, slowly exited her flat into the cold air of London. She pulled her coat around her to shield the onset of the cold as she made her way around the neighbourhood. Her mind was racing.

She had just come back from an exhilarating trip. She had loved every second of travelling, from trying new foods to complex diplomacy. She loved experiencing an adventure with Harry where they weren't starving and searching for Horcruxes. As they traversed from Eastern Europe to the Middle East, Harry told her about his anxiety about his upcoming wedding, and Hermione finally told him about Fred (he was shocked, but it seemed to fill in some missing pieces about why she was so close to George Weasley now.) As they traipsed the cedar forests in Lebanon, Hermione felt truly alive, and as she watched Harry argue with a dealer in a bazaar in Syria, she realised she didn't miss Neville at all. She hadn't thought about him since she left without waking him up. But she had thought about Draco, an idea that concerned her so much it made her slightly ill.

In Israel, Hermione met an olive-skinned wizard named Gilad, who had dark curly hair that framed his face and sparkling black eyes. He seemed to be the equivalent of an Auror, and he radiated joy. He showed her how to ride on a camel and taught her to brew Turkish coffee. They sat on the sands for hours watching the pitch-black sky, studded with jewel-like stars, talking about everything in the world. He was so foreign and yet so familiar, and at the end of the week, she found it difficult to peel herself away from him.

And now Hermione was back in her regular life and miserable. London was beautiful, but she was back to her old routine and she felt stifled. She walked further and further along until she found herself in front of the door of the flat of George Weasley and Angelina Johnson.

George Weasley had uncommon business acumen and a soft spot for Hermione. He had been rather pleased Fred had made his move (even if it was at a funeral) and had been happy to watch their relationship flourish. After the war, George was the only one who knew about Fred and Hermione's secret relationship. George was particularly pained by the fact that he had been the sounding board for all of Fred's big hopes and dreams (he had been rather a hopeless romantic when it came to the bushy-haired brunette bookworm) and he was crushed by the profound loss that both he and Hermione had suffered. He had been the one to encourage her to seek therapy (which she did), but the mark was permanent. Like him, she had loved someone deeply and lost them, and the world expected the two of them to keep ongoing.

George also heartily disapproved of Neville Longbottom as a match for Hermione. Neville, in George's opinion, would never challenge Hermione. He was in too much awe that he had landed the Golden Girl, and he found him cowardly. Sure, there was the whole issue with the snake, but didn't Neville only become brave when there was no other person to overshadow him? Every time Neville and George had met, George complained to Angelina that he was an overrated git. No one shared George's opinion.

But now, Hermione was in his kitchen and she looked dishevelled and exhausted. Slowly, words began to tumble out of her mouth - how she was dating Neville but something felt missing, how Draco had shown up in the middle of the night and Neville was a right arse about the whole matter, and how Hermione just wanted to run away because she didn't want to get married and she had to and oh how she hated her bloody job.

Angelina leaned in the doorway, listening to her former housemate cry into a mug of tea. Like George, Angelina rather liked Hermione and agreed with George that Hermione and Neville were to be a marriage of convenience, rather than love. It was a little past five in the morning, and Hermione was sniffling about international magical cooperation and Draco Malfoy.

"Then bloody leave him, Hermione. You're a smart witch, always have been," Angelina said from the doorway.

Hermione looked up tearfully.

"But the act-"

"To hell with the fucking act. You have six months left on the clock, and if you're not happy now, then you won't be happy in a year," Angelina said sensibly. "You have worked too hard and lost too much to settle."

George looked at his partner thankfully. "I agree," he shook his head up and down as if to reinforce his point.

"He's the best-"

"Option? No, he's not, Hermione, since you just said you spent three weeks away from him and barely thought about him," Angelina said, pulling out a chair from the kitchen table.

"It's not as if-" Hermione started, and then thought better.

George's eyes darkened. He knew exactly what he was about to say.

"He would want better for you," George said quietly, and Angelina held his hand. "He loved you so much, he would never shut up about you. And he's going to come back to haunt you if you disrespect his memory but starting a family with someone who doesn't prioritise you the way he did. I'd given my bottom galleon that Neville is still in your flat arguing with Malfoy, and he hasn't noticed that you're gone." While George did not actually know this to be true, it was, in fact, true. Neville was still screaming at a helpless Draco, who was looking around for Hermione.

Hermione sighed, a stray hair falling out of her messily tied bun. "And then what?"

"Angelina and I will conspire to find the best wizard in all of Britain for you. And remember, if at the end of the year, there's no one - the ministry will pair you up with someone."

"And with my luck, that person will be Tom the innkeeper," she grimaced.

"Nonsense," George laughed. "Go home. Kick those men out of your flat."

Hermione did three things that morning: she and Neville escorted Draco to the Ministry to make sure he was debriefed and protected. Once that was over, she swiftly broke up with a shocked Neville. She then tipped off Rita Skeeter about the breakup. She was single, and she was going to take advantage of her fame.

She settled into her office and while she was reading a piece of proposed legislation, Harry Potter entered her office.

"Rita Skeeter is good, but is she good enough to find out about a breakup between two of the most famous magical personalities and write an article and submit it an hour before the Daily Prophet is sent out," he asked, depositing the paper on her desk.

Hermione shrugged. "We broke up in the Ministry, anyone could have heard."

"Oh, bullshit, Hermione," Harry said, sitting in the mahogany chair opposite her desk. "What happened?"

"When we were on our trip, I realised I was having the best time of my life and I didn't want to talk to Neville about it. I didn't think about Neville at all."

"But does this have anything to do with the fact that Malfoy looks like he got glassed and apparently showed up at your flat at 4 am this morning to be interrogated by Neville," he asked, eyeing her carefully.

Hermione shook her head. "No. It was just… seeing Neville like that… it sealed the deal. He kept yelling at Draco as if he was protecting my honour, but… it felt more about his ego than me. And I want to change what's going on in my life because I feel… unfulfilled. I hate this job. I want to approach Top Floor about starting an official liaison office with the other ministries around the world."

Harry nodded. "I'll support that completely. I agree that we need that. Actually, Ron and I were thinking it might be better — and safer — if you came and lived with us for a while. It'll be like the old days, and… we have all the protective charms still, and just…"

Hermione smiled. "I'd love that. I haven't seen Ron in what feels like forever."

Harry reached across her desk and took her hand. "Whatever happens, we're in this together." His voice was unusually thick with emotion.

"Always," Hermione said, squeezing his hand. She looked at her best friend again, and 14 years of deep love and friendship began to overwhelm her. They could not deny that dark forces were conspiring again and threatening to overwhelm them, but they were together, and for now, that was enough.


	6. From the Grave

A note about the previous chapter: you are allowed to date someone and realise that they are not for you. You are not under any obligation to stay with someone you don't love. Neville was exhibiting volatile tendencies, and he put her on a pedestal. Imagine living like that - you could never be human to the person you were sharing a life with. Don't stay with someone because it's expected. Stay with them because you want to.

* * *

_"I never meant to leave you there, a crown of roses in your hair_

_Along with everything you ever feared_

_In every step I see your face, and even though I'm miles away_

_Just close your eyes, and you can feel me here_

_Feel me here"_

_\- "From the Grave," James Arthur_

Hermione stood back and admired her handiwork. She was now the head of the newly formed Department of International Magical Alliance and Strategic Cooperation in the Auror Office, which compromised of just her and a wiry wizard named Bertie. While the pay stayed the same (a pittance), she was a granted a slightly larger office. She had spent several hours adding photos and personal touches to the office, and was rather pleased with her handiwork.

A week and a half before, Ron and Harry helped her temporarily move into Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Dark forces were on the rise again, Harry reasoned, and they were better off together. They had lived together here, however briefly, during the war, and they would weather this storm together. Hermione found the hubbub of noise and movement soothing - Ron woke up before the sun and puttered in the kitchen, Teddy's little feet would run down the hallway and end in the adorable squeal of "it's time to get up, Uncle Harry," and Harry's groan and subsequent chuckles at the evolving antics of the cheeky child. The seven-year-old was a constant source of laughter and joy in the home, and it led to Hermione thinking about her own future children.

"Looking good," a familiar voice said from behind her. Harry was holding some odd object and a stack of files. "Glad to have you even closer in the building."

Hermione grabbed the files from him. "New Aurors are getting here today," she said, placing the files on her desk. "What's that?"

"Oh, it's from George and Angelina for your new job," he handed it to her. Hermione handled it gingerly. After all, it was from Weasley Wizard Wheezes, and she was still suspect after that punching telescope. "And," Harry said, reaching into his back pocket, "he found this and wanted you to have it."

It was a photograph, the edges tattered and yellowed. She remembered the moment exactly - Fred was spinning her around the dance floor at Bill and Fleur's wedding, and she was laughing and totally lost in his eyes. They were radiant, not realising this was the last time, the last dance. Hermione gulped. It felt like watching her life from a stranger's point of view. That love and happiness was so far removed from her current reality.

"You ok?" Harry asked concernedly.

Hermione nodded. "Sometimes it feels like this part of my life wasn't real. And sometimes it's so overwhelming I feel like I'm going to drown…" Her voice trailed off.

_"From the grave, I crawl_

_Through pouring rain for you_

_I would pay the cost to_

_Be in your arms again_

_The fire I would walk through_

_For all the pain I caused you_

_Oh, I would pay the cost to_

_Be in your arms again"_

_Fred Weasley was searching for the Ever-Exploding Earmuffs in the colourful stockroom of Weasley Wizard Wheezes. The stockroom was filled to the brim and was in a constant state of disarray. George kept saying that they would organise one day, but business kept them booming, and the Summoning Charm was good enough for now. Fred paced back and forth between the Peruvian Darkness Powder and Jordanian Vanishing Root, cursing the overwhelming clutter._

_"Do you want any help?" He could smell Hermione even before she spoke - the heady scent gardenias and freshly rolled parchment. To Fred, she smelled like heaven. He broke into a face splitting smile and pulled her into his arms, kissing her passionately._

_"You didn't tell me you're coming," he said as he began to kiss down her neck. Hermione moaned._

_"I thought I'd surprise you," she said simply, as she ran her hands through his long red hair. _

_They had been a couple for two months, and they were thoroughly in love, as only a 17 and 19 year old in the throes of war could be. Fred continued to work on her neck and pushed her to the wall. "God, I missed you," he whispered._

_Hermione giggled. They had seen each other that very morning (and the night before) and she had craved a distraction from her books and worries. For the first time, she felt carefree and like a woman her age, which was ironic, giving everything outside of the shop was conspiring to kill her. She melted into Fred's kisses until he came up for air._

_"Can I make you dinner? Will you stay the night?" He asked hopefully._

_"It looks like you need some serious help around here," Hermione said, regarding the cluttered stockroom. "Do you want my help?"_

_Fred grinned. "Yes, I do, but you have to let me pay you back with dinner and several hours of" he stopped himself in the middle of the sentence to kiss her again, and they broke apart, giggling._

_Several hours later, the stockroom was organised, and Hermione was wrapped up in Fred's arms in his small bedroom above the shop. _

_"I don't want you to go," he admitted quietly. Hermione had told him she would have to follow Harry so they could do something, and she couldn't tell him what. Fred knew he couldn't stop her - in fact, he wouldn't. One of the things he loved about her was how fiercely brave and determined she was. If Harry was going to save the wizarding world, Hermione was going to go with him. After all, what was Harry without Hermione? Probably dead, he mused sadly. In fact, they had been told the night before that at the end of the week they were going to transport Harry Potter to the Burrow for the final time, and he had watched in admiration as Hermione concocted the majority of the plan._

_"I know," Hermione whispered back, moving closer to him. "But I'll be back, and…"_

_"And then what next?" Fred asked, pulling her even closer._

_"I want to go to Healer school," Hermione said. "and travel. Haven't gotten to do much of that. What about you?"_

_Fred nodded. "First things first, when you get back," he began, "I'm going to tell you I died a thousand times without you here, and I'm going to beg you to marry me. And you're going to say no, and I'm going to keep asking until you say yes," his voice grew husky, and he climbed on top of her so that he could look directly into her eyes. "And whatever you want to do, we're going to do. If you want to go to Healer school, if you want to run away and travel the world, if you want to open a bookstore, I'm there."_

_Hermione was at a loss for words. "Um -"_

_"I'm in love with you. I want you to run off and save the world, just make it back to me. I won't be able to live if something happened to you," he said, and began to kiss her. "Just come back to me."_

_And Hermione had come back for him. She had seen him climb through the portrait hole in the Room of Requirement, and they had a brief, joy-filled reunion. And then… he was dead. "I won't be able to live if something happened to you, just come back to me," he had said. In the subsequent months, she found out that death was the easier option. The harder option was living when everything was etched with the memories of someone you had planned to create a future with. Her grief was isolating. She felt she couldn't take to anyone, and her only real reminder was the golden telescope necklace around her neck. Her relationship had been a secret, and so was her grief. It took months for the panic attacks to subside, and almost a full year until she felt safe to go outside without an accompaniment. _

_Some days were fine. Some days she was the fearless Hermione Granger. And some days she pulled the drapes shut and stared into this distance. With time, the dark days became less and less, reserved just for her dreams. And one day, she found she told a relative stranger about the love she lost and she didn't cry. And so she put up the photographs that once had caused her pain, and she went on a date. The date hadn't been particularly successful, but she had done it. The pain was still there, but she was learning to live with it._

_"Now, I'll always be right where you were_

_No borders can keep us apart_

_And on the other side, I'll meet you there_

_So bury me and lock me in_

_I'll find a way to rise again_

_I'll break away and find you anywhere."_

There were 12 new international Aurors in the room dedicated for meetings, chatting amicably. She glanced at her list to quickly acquaint herself with the people who had been sent to help pilot her initiative.

Emmeline Rose Georges, France

Lionel Hawakama, United States

Sihri Adebayo, Nigeria

Gilad Kesem, Israel

Rayan Abu Sahar, Jordan

Klaus Zauber, Austria

Alma Hechizo, Venezula

Paulo Bruxaria, Brazil

Marie Maho, Japan

Ji-ae Mabeob, South Korea

Charles Honglepong, Australia

Helen Ofatu, Zambia

They were all milling around, chatting quietly with their new co-workers. Some, like Georges and Gilad, Hermione knew. Honglepong (_what a ridiculous name_, Hermione thought) reminded her uncomfortably of Cormac McLaggen. Maho and Mabeob were sitting next to each other, laughing uproariously. They could not look more different. Mabeob had blonde hair streaked with green and pink and a pair of studded boots. Maho was the picture of refinement and elegance. Rayan Abu Sahar looked like royalty (she was to find out later he was the first cousin of King Abdullah of Jordan, and also the liaison officer/advisor about all things magical to the King) as he conversed with Adebayo. Hawakama was thickset and tan, hailing from the Hawaiian islands.

They were all the best of the best, Hermione knew. They had distinguished themselves in their own countries and were now here to help create an alliance with the United Kingdom so as to prevent another war that would decimate the magical population further. They would spend time here, meeting the British Auror Office, and then would return back to their home countries to coordinate intel and provide the support to their magical brothers and sisters.

And it went better than Hermione could have hoped. They were integrating and providing advice to their peers, joining the British on hunts, and creating strategy. Hermione found herself laughing more than she had in a while, and Harry was extremely satisfied with the way things were progressing in the office. For the first time since she joined work at the Ministry, work was challenging and fulfilling.

But the clock was ticking further, and she had a little more than five months to the deadline. Either she found something that was suited to her, or she took her chances on the Matching, and that possibility worried her. She was vaguely aware that Harry and Ron had tried to introduce people to her. But they seemed to be in awe of the fact that she was _Hermione Granger_, the Golden Girl, the woman that saved the Wizarding World. Everyone seemed to forget she was just a woman who really wanted to be seen for who she was. She was constantly on a pedestal to those who didn't know her, and those who knew her still remembered the bossy bookworm from her early days. So she buried herself further inside of her work, forming more strategy and policy, paying attention to every detail. She read reports and had endless meetings. She justified her absurd hours as the beginning of a new job, and that she had to make Top Floor happy.

She stared at the last photo of her and Fred together, dancing around. She had been radiant in her joy. And so, for the first time in Hermione Jean Granger's life, she prayed.

"Fred, if you're up there and watching, you owe me. I came back for you, and you didn't wait for me. You went and left me here and now what am I supposed to do? I miss you so much that some days I think I'm going to break." She buried her face in her hands. "Please, Fred, cancel this dumb law or send me something that will make me, instead of the papers, happy."

And little did Hermione know, her luck was about to change.


	7. Say Love

_"Don't know what to say to you now_

_Standing right in front of you_

_Don't know how to fade in and out_

_Don't know how to play it cool_

_Lose a little guard, let it down_

_We don't have to think it through_

_We've got to let go"_

_\- "Say Love," _James TW

The wizarding world quickly lost interest in the mysterious breakup of Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger, save for a small item that Neville had quit his job as an Auror and had accepted a job as Herbology professor at Hogwarts. Rita Skeeter postulated that Hermione had received her new job within Neville's department, and Neville, heartbroken by Hermione, had quit in sorrow. She was desperately trying to paint Hermione as a cold-hearted, manipulative witch who had used Neville for fame while she scanned her options. Fortunately for Hermione, Skeeter's journalism was typically met with skepticism and Hermione was still rather popular with the wizarding public who thought she was entitled to find love.

On occasion, George Weasley found himself short handed at Weasley Wizard Wheezes, and Hermione and Harry would fill in. Their celebrity would exacerbate the stress on the store, as everyone would try to catch a peek at the heroes. Seven years later, their profile had barely dimmed. George rather liked those days, since they would be a severe spike in income. And so, on that wet December mid-morning, Hermione, Harry, Ron, George and Katie Bell were managing the floor of the most popular magic joke shop in Western Europe.

"Catch!" Katie threw a set of enchanted cutlery at Ron, who was stocking the magical housewares section. Katie, George, Harry, and Ron managed the store like they were playing quidditch: each with their own role, acting independently but in support of each other, all for a common goal. Ron caught it as if he was still on the pitch, and in true form, Harry was chasing an elusive Pygmy Puff. The hubbub was like a weighted blanket for Hermione - she was among people who knew her, and she was able to get lost in her work, mindless as it was.

They closed early that afternoon, and George insisted on buying them dinner as a thank you, and so they clambered into the Leaky Cauldron, exhausted but in good spirits. Ginny, Angelina, and their friend Gwendolyn (keeper for the Gateshead Gargoyles) joined, and it became a mess of noise, firewhiskey, and laughter. Gwendolyn sat next to Ron, and out of the corner of Hermione's eye, she watched Ron instantly melt into Gwendolyn's honey coloured eyes as they discussed the three way trade between the Southampton Sprites, Norwich Newts, and Puddlemere United. Gwendolyn was rather tall, with a sheet of strawberry blonde hair and freckles that marched defiantly across her nose. Hermione elbowed Harry as a wordless way of keep him appraised of Ron's advancement. They shared a pleased, knowing smile.

When Harry and Hermione walked into the Auror Department the next morning, they were still laughing at starry-eyed Ron who chattered endlessly about Gwendolyn at breakfast. It was an excellent development - after Hermione had declined to pursue a relationship with Ron, he struggled to find his footing in the romantic department. He had many first dates - but not many second. People were interested in the celebrity that was Ronald Billius Weasley, but he was an acquired taste, and for most women, he was simply not what they had envisioned.

It was now five months to the deadline, and Hermione found herself more overwhelmed by work. Many times she would come home and Harry and Ron would be long asleep, and she would fall asleep as her quill scratched across parchment. She was barely finding time for herself, let alone a date. Her initiative had also just celebrated it's first major win - Ji-ae and the Magical Assembly (the Korean version of the ministry) passed on information to Brazil and Britain, who found that a high ranking official in the Brazilian Muggle Congress was actually creating a haven for dark wizards who had escaped after the Battle of Hogwarts. The Brazilian Aurors apprehended them, and delivered five wanted wizards to the Ministry the next very day. Minister Shacklebolt called Hermione up and pinned a commendation to her.

While it seemed like the entire magical law enforcement world passed through the doorway of her office, Draco Malfoy was noticeably absent. Since the night he had shown up on her doorstep, he had remained cold and aloof. They didn't have any projects to collaborate on anymore, and Hermione was too busy to investigate why the thin blonde man was avoiding her. But she missed his stories and his morning coffees. There was some kind of understanding that had been bred there, and she felt the absence.

"Hi, Hermione!" Gilad Kesem, Israel's representative, said brightly as he walked into her office. Gilad was completely oblivious to British norms and customs in a way that Hermione found rather endearing. He was prone to show emotion and got straight to the point when he spoke. He was also oddly handsome - he was of a middling height, but rather stocky, which gave the impression he was taller than he actually was. His curly black hair was short and framed his square olive coloured face. His black eyes sparkled with mischief and good cheer, and he seemed to permanently have a smile spread across his face. His hands and arms were covered in burns and scars, and he dressed like a muggle, which raised eyebrows in the Auror Office.

"Good morning, Gilad," Hermione said, cheerfully. "What can I help you with?"

"I want to go to with Rayan and Lionel to Canada on a fact finding trip," he said. "I think there's three Jordanian wizards connected to Alsihr Al'aswad in Alberta."

Alsihr Al'aswad was the Arab equivalent of the Death Eaters. Their motivation was unknown, but in the past six months, they had claimed the lives of upwards of a thousand muggles, disguised as acts of civil unrest in the various countries - a stall had exploded in a marketplace in Beirut, a petrol bomb in a school in Damascus, a mysterious fire in a shopping mall in Haifa — and the situation was infuriating. Their leader was anonymous, and everything about them was shrouded in mystery. It felt like fighting a many headed snake in the dark.

"Do you-"

"I have a brief," he cut her off, handing her a stack of parchment.

"When do you want to leave?" She asked, perusing the document.

"Tomorrow morning."

Hermione nodded. "I'll approve this, just take Berrick for good measure."

Gilad broke into an even wider smile. "Ok, and one more thing."

Hermione nodded again, still thumbing though the parchment.

"Are you free for dinner tonight?" He asked.

Her head shot up. _You're technically his boss right now, it would be wildly inappropriate, _she thought. _It's probably a professional thing, Hermione. He's not the kind of guy who would be interested in you for a date._

"Um-" Hermione began, but he cut her off.

"Don't get the wrong idea, I'm asking you on a date."

A jolt of electricity went through Hermione.

"Gilad, I'm flattered, but… I can't go on a date with you… you know, the Act?"

His brow furrowed. "What act?"

Hermione quickly described the predicament she was in, about having to get married and the dwindling wizarding population.

"Well, still, go on the date with me," Gilad said easily. "What's the worst that could happen? We'll take it one day at a time. It could be an extreme example of international magical cooperation." He chuckled.

Hermione considered it for a second. Every cell in her body was screaming yes, and she heard herself saying, "sure, what's the worst that could happen?"

Fred Weasley would have been proud.


End file.
